Photographs and Ticket Stubs
by ashleyjskywalker
Summary: Post 6B... Sappy drabble. Oneshot.


"_You've already had what most of us only dream of- a lifetime with the person that you love. Look around you. Your entire house is filled with mementos: photographs, ticket stubs, evidence of a life shared with somebody."_

You smile, Peter's words echoing through your thoughts. The look on his face and the way that his gaze went directly to you when he spoke them are permanently etched into your memory. Because it was that look that finally pulled you back to him, the emotion on his face what gave you the courage to trust him with your still-mending heart. That he would still want a life with you... It's nothing short of amazing.

He was right, you reflect, about this relationship being beautiful. You ease into it slowly, but nothing's ever felt more _right_. And so your relationship grows. You walk in the park together, go to the little quiet cafe on the corner for dinner. One night he takes you to the movies, and as he goes to procure drinks and popcorn for the two of you, you glance down at your ticket stub thoughtfully, tucking it carefully into your pocket as an idea occurs to you. With a quick glance at Peter to make sure his back is still turned to you, you pull out your cell phone and fire off a quick text before turning it off and pocketing it again.

A few days later you find an unmarked envelope on your desk, a quick glance and smile from Astrid confirming that it's what you asked her for. You smile back in thanks, carefully slipping it into the inner pocket of your jacket where you can smuggle it home without anyone asking questions that you aren't ready to answer yet. You excuse yourself from work early for the day, since there's no case and everyone's always hounding you about working too hard.

Not long after you leave the lab, you find yourself staring with some trepidation at the entrance to an arts and crafts store, somewhere you previously thought you would never have occasion to step foot in. Saving the world? You can do that. Being a normal woman? Not your strong suit.

You emerge, what feels like days later, with a full bag- a simple yet elegant binder, blank scrapbook sheets, and several sheets of stickers that the sales clerk insisted that you would be glad you bought. You spread it all out on the floor when you get home, retrieving the movie ticket stub from its safe place on your dresser and the envelope from your jacket. Inside are several photographs of you and Peter- you remembered Astrid's fondness for her camera, and was glad to find out that she had several of the two of you together- candid shots, both of you smiling, neither aware of the camera pointed your way, oblivious to how happy you were together.

At first, you stare blankly at the supplies in front of you, unsure of how to proceed. You've never been the artsy type, and for a while you think you've jumped in over your head. But then your hands gently touch the pictures, turning them this way or that, arranging them on the pages. The ticket stub joins them.

And so the first few pages of your life with Peter are recorded. You smile, closing the binder and setting it on the coffee table before placing the rest of the supplies back into the bag, leaving it safely in your closet for use at a later date. You make a mental note to thank Astrid, to make sure the camera comes out more often, because you will need more to make your chronicle complete.

The apartment door opens- it's Peter, looking for you after having finally escaped the lab for the day. By the time you have made it back to the living room, he has found the scrapbook and has the cover opened, gazing down at the first page. He doesn't notice you at first, and you clear your throat gently to catch his attention.

He jumps, yanking his hand back from the scrapbook, looking like a boy whose parents just found him with his hands in the cookie jar, and you laugh at the guilty expression on his face. "It's all right," you reassure him, crossing the room and pulling him down onto the couch with you, setting the binder in his lap. "It's not just for me."

He wraps his arm around you then, pulling you closer to him and he reopens the book, slowing flipping through the pages you had made. "You got these from Astrid," he murmurs softly, the sentence half question and half statement. He pauses at the last completed page, fingers running over the ticket stub there, the memory of that night still fresh in his mind, and he smiles as he realizes what you're doing. He looks at you, eyes lit up, before sliding a hand behind your head and pulling you in to kiss you. "I love you," he whispers, and your heart still thrills at the words as you whisper them back.

And so even though you don't need the scrapbook to remember every moment of your time together, you still collect the photographs and ticket stubs and place them inside of it... evidence of a life spent with someone you love.


End file.
